understandably changed his mind. He was now seated in the bow of the lifeboat smoking furiously and cursing the name Bonaparte. Von Draxis had gone missing. Hawke thought perhaps the man had done the only sensible thing and jumped overboard.
Hawke had the controller in his hand, ready to push the button that would lower away the lifeboat. The last to board, an over-wrought Chinese technician, was bouncing up and down on the deck, screaming.
Mariucci, climbing into the boat, said, “He says he’s not getting in the lifeboat without the rest of his colleagues.”
Hawke looked at the man. “You’ve got one second. In or out.”
The man turned on his heel and ran off toward the stern. Hawke looked at his watch and said, “Twelve minutes.”
“Okay. That’s it,” Mariucci said. “Climb in and let’s get the fuck out of Dodge.” Hawke didn’t move. He was looking at him funny. Something was wrong.
“Where’s Tynan?” Hawke said.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Mariucci said. “I figured he was coming.”
“Where did you last see him?”
“In that bar, directing the Chinese to the lifeboats.”
“Which bar? There are about thirty.”
“Where we first met von Draxis.”
“Normandie? How quickly we forget.”
“Alex. We got to go. Now.”
Hawke pushed the button and the lifeboat jolted into movement, rapidly dropping away down the side.
“Jump in!” Mariucci cried.
“No man left behind, John. I’ll catch the next boat.” Hawke ran up the nearest stairway, taking them three at a time. He remembered the Normandie bar as being one deck up, overlooking the bow. He had less than ten minutes now, to find that young Coast Guardsman and get the bloody hell off this ship.
Chapter Sixty-four
The North Atlantic
3:48 A.M., EST
“MR. PRESIDENT,” JOHN GOOCH SAID, “ SEAWOLF IS AT TEN miles and closing. Leviathan is one mile from the ‘Wall,’ proceeding on autopilot at thirty knots. ETA two minutes.”
“Is everyone off that boat?”
“We can’t get hold of anybody on board. Coast Guard Search and Rescue helo approaching the target area from the north reports two lifeboats in the water. Riding low. Full.”
“Full?”
“That’s what the Yankee Victor pilot said, sir.”
“So they’re probably all off. Inform Seawolf. Launch torpedoes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is the Chinese premier on the line?”
“They’re getting him now, Mr. President.”
“Good. Get Hawke on the radio. Make sure he’s safely away.”
“Trying every twenty seconds. He’s not responding, sir.”
“Probably a little busy. Keep trying.”
3:50 A.M., EST
Hawke burst into the Normandie bar, his eyes scanning the large room for any sign of movement. Deserted. Tynan could be anywhere. He had nine minutes. Less. His mobile rang again. It was incessant. What the hell did they want now? He had nothing to report except his imminent demise. He heard a soft moan coming from a banquette to his left and sprinted through the sea of empty tables. He saw Tynan spread-eagled on the floor. He was on his back, staring upward, his eyes unfocused, his chest heaving rapidly. His shirtfront was a bloody mess.
Hawke bent down and spoke softly to him.
“Tynan. If you can hear me, clench your fist.”
His right hand opened slowly and closed tightly.
“Von Draxis,” Tynan croaked. “He…had a knife and he…I didn’t see him, he just—”
“Hold on, Tynan. I’m going to get you out of here,” Hawke said, getting his arms under the big man.
“Ready? Here we go.”
It took every bit of Hawke’s strength to stagger to his feet with the dying man in his arms. He ran for the door, knocking over any tables and chairs that got in his way, stumbling, almost going down twice. He stayed on his feet. Ten yards and he’d be back on deck. A shadowy figure appeared in the doorway, lurching toward him with his head down and his heavily muscled shoulders bunched.
Von Draxis. How had he escaped? An enraged bull, his white dinner jacket spattered with Tynan’s blood. Hawke kept moving forward, somehow heaving Tynan up on his right shoulder to free his left hand. The German still had the knife. A big one, and it was coming up in his hand as he recognized the man coming at him.
“My Lord Hawke!” von Draxis said, sputtering furiously, his eyes dancing, “I’ve finally figured out who you are. General Moon told me. You’re not George Moran. You’re that bastard Hawke, aren’t you? You’re the one who —”
“Get out of my way,” Hawke said and kept moving.
“Ha! You think you’re leaving? Deserting the ship like those Chinese rats? I told Luca we could never count on the Chinese! Come here! You’re not going any—”
Hawke’s left fist flashed out, connected with the man’s nose, and there was a soft crack of bone, a dry twig snapping in two. Von Draxis dropped the knife. His hands flew to his face, blood trickling from beneath them, and his legs gave way. He went down hard. He was trying to get up but he couldn’t get anything to work. He looked up at Hawke, blood streaming from his nose.
“You think this is the end?” he said, red bubbles forming on his lips.
“Don’t you?”
“Bonaparte and I, we are invincible. Unsinkable, just like this beautiful ship I built. We—”
“Bonaparte is going down, just like you and your boat. Auf wiedersehen, Baron. Schlafen Sie gut.”
Hawke paused at the top of the steep stair leading down to the life-boats. There was no way of descending with Tynan over his shoulder. He had five minutes now. No time to lower the boat anyway. No. He would have to— his mobile was ringing in his pocket and he fished it out.
“Hawke,” he said, his mind racing ahead, searching for a way out of this.
“Alex, it’s Jack McAtee. You’re in the lifeboat? You’re away?”
“No, sir. Not in the lifeboat at all, I fear, Mr. President. Are we—are we over the—over the ‘Wall’?”
“Alex, the torpedoes are launched! Yes, you’re well over the ‘Wall.’ Get off that boat now!”
“Right. Good idea. It’s just that unless you sink this bloody ship…I don’t know—she’s got to go down! To the bottom, or—”
“That’s my problem! Listen to me, damn it! You get your ass off that—”
“Mr. President. I’ve a badly wounded man here. He’s not going to make it unless he—medical attention. Or —”
“Alex, do you see the chopper? There’s a Coast Guard—hold on—somebody get that pilot to drop a goddamn
